


Black, no sugar

by lunasenzanotte



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coffee Shops, Crack, Crimes & Criminals, Dark Crack, Gen, Starbucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 12:05:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15662895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasenzanotte/pseuds/lunasenzanotte
Summary: Coffee Shop!AU… in which Diego is a hitman coming to have coffee after “work”, and forgets about the blood on his clothes, and Martín is the barista, who is like “okay, this is the last coffee I make in my life”. Also, Diego doesn’t get the concept of Starbucks at all.





	Black, no sugar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dame5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dame5/gifts).



> Written for a prompt, and I don't know why I'm on a crack wave, but I am, and I had a blast writing this. Also, it's been years since I last wrote these two, it was time.

Diego turns the corner and yawns. It’s not even that late, but he’s had a long night at work, it was all a bit messier than usual, and he still has things to sort out. A cup of coffee wouldn’t hurt.

Then he sees the inviting lights of a coffee shop just in front of him and thinks why not, he does have time to buy coffee.

He pushes the door and walks in. The coffee shop is completely empty. Perfect.

“Hello!” a cheerful voice greets him. “What can I get you?”

Diego looks at the barista, his wide grin, and almost feels like using the gun hidden under his jacket. “Coffee,” he says.

“Sure,” the barista says and his grin doesn’t get any less wide. “What coffee?”

Diego lifts his eyes and realizes that there are _four_ damn boards with the menu above the barista’s head, and most of the beverages have really weird names.

“The strongest thing you have,” he says.

Apparently, he’s just made the guy even happier now. If he’s genuinely happy with his job and his cheerfulness isn’t actually well concealed despair.

“Well, I could offer you cold brew, but it’s… cold,” he says and assesses Diego’s expression. “Okay, no. Hot, then. An americano?”

Diego sighs. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Perfect,” the guy grins again. Diego’s index finger is tingling now. He imagines it on the trigger. “Size? Tall? Grande? Venti?”

Diego doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about. “The biggest you have,” he says.

The guy nods happily and grabs a cup which could probably snuggle a whole bottle of wine. “Milk?” he asks. “We have regular, soy, low-fat, coconut…”

Diego imagines jumping over the counter and strangling him, because by now he judges death by a bullet too quick and not painful enough. He can’t believe that ordering a coffee is more complicated than getting a new kidney. He looks at the name tag on the barista’s apron. “Look, Martín, give me a huge cup of strong, black, hot liquid. That’s all I ask.”

Martín’s smile gets a tiny bit more strained, but he promptly starts scribbling on the cup with a marker.

“Name?” he asks then, just when Diego thought they were getting somewhere.

“The hell you need it for?” Diego growls.

Martín looks positively confused. “That’s how we do it here.”

Diego rolls his eyes. He should have gotten the coffee from a machine at the gas station or somewhere. “Just write something if you must, Snow White or Cinderella, I don’t give a damn.”

From the movements of the marker, he can tell that Martín is indeed writing “Cinderella”. He even draws a smiley face on the cup. Diego doesn’t know whether to cry or run out of there, because this must be some altered reality.

“Will that be all?” Martín asks then.

“You bet,” Diego growls.

Martín still dares to ask whether Diego has the Starbucks card, to which he doesn’t react, and reaches for his wallet. When he looks up, he’s looking at a very different Martín, though.

The grin is completely gone. He looks like he’s just seen a ghost.

Diego gives him one confused look. Then it occurs to him to look at his own t-shirt.

_Shit._

He completely forgot about the blood. He had other problems and the jacket just took care of that… well, until he unzipped it.

He puts his wallet back in his pocket and zips up the jacket again. Then he hands the barista a banknote. Martín takes it and pretends nothing happened, but well, some things can’t be unseen.

He moves to the coffee machine and grabs the cup. He almost drops it, because his hands are shaking. It’s a small miracle that he doesn’t spill the drink all over himself.

“Your americano,” he says, puts the cup on the counter, and motions vaguely somewhere behind Diego. “Sugar is over there.”

Diego asks himself if he looks like someone who puts sugar in their coffee, but then decides that it’s the smallest of his problems right now.

“You’ve just made that freaking coffee by yourself,” he says.

“Yeah?” Martín says nervously.

“Then why the hell were you scribbling all that stuff on the cup? Problems with short-term memory?”

“Eh…no.”

_That’s a pity. It could have solved the situation._

Diego just grabs the cup and goes to sit at the table by the door. Apparently, it makes Martín very nervous. _As it should._ Truth is Diego _was_ planning to grab his coffee and walk out, but now he needs to figure out what to do.

Damn it. He should have bought a freaking Red Bull.

He sips on the coffee. It’s only slightly better than what he would have obtained from the machine at a gas station, and there’s no way he can drink all of it.

He gives up halfway through the deep abyss of the cup, gets up and walks up to the counter. He unzips his jacket and pulls out the gun, casually pushing the display of Starbucks gift cards to the side with the barrel. 

Diego has to give it to Martín that he merely takes a step back. Doesn’t hide under the counter, doesn’t scream nor do anything equally pathetic. He’s got quite the nerve.

Though it’s probably a requirement if you want to work here.

“So what?” Diego says. “Are we going to make a deal?”

“A deal?” Martín looks at him, hugging himself like it can somehow protect him from Diego. “As in, if you don’t shoot me, you’ll have twenty coffees gratis?”

“If you think I’ll ever walk in there again, you are delusional,” Diego growls.

Now, despite the situation, Martín looks more _hurt_ than scared. Ironically, he’s probably doing his job really well, it just doesn’t sit well with Diego.

“The deal I had in mind involved me walking out of here without you calling the cops on me the second I walk out. I do still have some things to do tonight, and it wouldn’t be very convenient to have them on my heels,” he explains patiently. He’s learned over the years that if he’s aiming his gun on someone, he has to speak slowly and clearly, because the person’s brain is kind of overwhelmed. “Me not shooting you is still a part of the deal, though.”

“I suppose saying ‘cross my heart, hope to die’ will not be enough for you,” Martín says. “Whatever, I’m down.”

It seems that he actually does have something in his head. Or at least a great instinct of self-preservation.

“Fine. Give me the keys.”

Martín pushes the bunch of keys to him. Diego picks it up and sighs exasperatedly. It has a fucking _bear_ _plushie_ on it. He locks the door and leaves the key in the lock so that he doesn’t have to see the hideous thing for some time.

“What’s over there?” he asks motioning to the door behind the counter.

“The store room.”

“Perfect. Let’s go.”

The store room is full of crates and shelves with coffee, milk and paper cups, and it’s _neat_. It seems like they really like to have things organized here.

Diego nods contentedly and reaches in his pocket for one of the zip-ties he always carries around, just in case.

“No, don’t you dare!” Martín snaps and it almost makes Diego hide behind a box full of paper cups. “That’s going to hurt!”

“I never promised it wasn’t,” Diego growls, but grabs the duct tape from one of the shelves. He’s probably getting old, letting his victims boss him around.

Martín apparently realizes that he’s gotten a bonus, because he’s obedient like a good dog. Save for tickling Diego’s face with his hair when Diego is trying to tie his hands to one of the shelves, but that might be unintentional. It is still way more distracting than Diego would ever admit.

“How many people have you killed?” Martín asks almost in a conversational tone of voice, and Diego would swear that there’s a great deal of curiosity and just a small hint of fear in his eyes.

“Should I include you in the number?” he retorts.

That effectively shuts him up. Diego tears the tape and gets up.

“I swear, if you steal the money…” Martín says, and Diego almost bursts out laughing. He has the nerve to _threaten_ him in this situation.

“Then what?” Diego gives him a death stare. That always works.

“I don’t want to get fired,” Martín whines.

“I’m not sure if I wouldn’t be doing you and the whole world a favor if I got you fired,” Diego makes a face. “But I really don’t need to steal a few coins.”

“ _A few coins_?” Martín gives him an offended look. “Do you even know how much this place makes weekly?”

“Are you trying to tell me that this place makes any money at all and I’m not the only fool to have walked in here?”

Martín just sighs exasperatedly.

Diego returns the duct tape to the shelf, just in case Martín is overprotective of it same as he is of the money, and turns to leave.

“What if I die here?” Martín calls.

Diego gives him another death stare. “Of what?”

“Boredom?” Martín tries.

Diego quickly hides his smile in the collar of his jacket, because he has an image to keep here. “You’ll be fine,” he assures him, and also almost says “sorry”, but stops himself in time.

He unlocks the door, walks out, locks the door again, and turns the corner. As he’s crossing the bridge, he throws the keys into the river with great satisfaction.

Only then he remembers that he had left the cup on the table.

_Shit._

Although it doesn’t really matter if they find it there, because once they ask Martín for Diego’s description, they won’t even need to run DNA tests or check for fingerprints because it will be quite clear to them who Diego is.

Then he remembers the cup in greater detail, and he wants to die as he realizes that the police will now wonder why the city’s most feared criminal calls himself Cinderella.

_Great. Just great._


End file.
